


Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors VIII

by days_of_storm



Series: Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Snow, consulting husbands, description of dead people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: Sherlock has been trying to solve a case, but it's snowing outside and John won't let the chance pass to drag Sherlock outside.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/35804
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Of Silly Consulting Detectives and Competent Ex-Army Doctors VIII

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verityburns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verityburns/gifts).



> A little late in the evening, but not too late! Happy happy birthday, Verity! <3

“Sherlock?” John threw his coat at him. “We’re going out.”

Sherlock looked up, for the first time in several hours, blinking slowly at him. “We are?”

“Yes, you haven’t moved at all and while I know that you can ignore the fact that your legs have probably fallen asleep, you need to move. And …” John grinned. “It’s snowing.”

“I know it’s snowing,” Sherlock snapped before turning to look out of the window and registering the falling snow for the first time. 

“And you’re in a mood. So yes,” John waved his gloves at him. “We are going out.”

Sherlock scowled and then tried to rise from where he had been sitting cross-legged on the carpet, studying photographs. John was certain that if he hadn’t figured out which one was the real one and which one had been doctored, he would need something else to help him along. And if that meant a bit of fresh air, a brisk walk through the park and possibly a pair of cold hands under his shirt to snap him out of his current grumpy state, then he would happily provide all of it. 

But he had been right about Sherlock’s circulation, and he tried very hard not to laugh when Sherlock tried to stand up and almost fell on his face. 

“You know,” John grinned as he held out a hand to help him. “I think we can be grateful that we don’t have any clients right now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but took his hand and allowed John to pull him upright. 

“You are not getting any younger, Sherlock. Maybe use a cushion next time?”

“John.”

“Hmm?”

Sherlock inhaled deeply before he shook his head, sneering a little. 

“Right. Put on your coat.” He went to get Sherlock’s scarf and wound it around his neck, purposefully doing it properly and not in the loose knot Sherlock usually used. “And you are going to wear a hat.”

“Not _the_ hat!”

John laughed. “No, not _the_ hat. But a hat.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

John was out of the door before Sherlock could change his mind, and once Sherlock joined him on the pavement outside, still hobbling a little because of his leg, John hoped that Sherlock’s mood would improve. He wouldn’t let his grumpy attitude and disappointment in himself put a damper on the fact that London was covered in a thick layer of fluffy snow. 

John knew it wouldn’t last. It was too warm for that and pollution would turn the snow into brown slush sooner rather than later, but for now it was still pristine and white, falling softly but rapidly, muting the sounds of the city and slowing everything down. 

“Let’s go,” he took Sherlock’s hand to pull him towards Regent’s Park, and as he had expected Sherlock to let go of him as soon as he had caught up, he was surprised when Sherlock renewed his grasp on him once they walked shoulder to shoulder.

“Your leg okay?” John asked conversationally. 

“Hmm. Yours?” Sherlock shot back, but for the first time in three days, there was a smile in his voice.

“Hmm, fair enough,” John chuckled. 

They walked in silence until they reached the gates to the park. It was snowing so hard now that they were both sporting little piles of snow on their heads and shoulders.

“Maybe we should have taken an umbrella,” John mused, brushing the snow off Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Hmm. No. I’m enjoying this.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I’m not entirely averse to snow, you know?”

John smiled as he remembered their first snow fight. A lifetime ago. “I know,” he said with a wide smile and slipped his arm around Sherlock’s waist. 

If it hadn’t been for the benches on the side of the pathways, they wouldn’t have been able to tell whether they were walking on concrete or grass. The crunch of their steps sounded very loud and muted at the same time and their breath curled out in front of their faces, mingling with the dancing snowflakes.

“Any way I can help with the case?” John finally asked, wondering if Sherlock would go right back to it once they got home. 

“I don’t know. I am not entirely sure that I am still interested in solving the case.”

“What? You spent three days on it.”

“Three days of being frustrated with it.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

“It’s a cold case, John.”

“One that you said you could solve.”

Sherlock sighed and then wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders. 

“Maybe I am getting old.”

“Maybe a cushion would solve half of the problem?”

Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to John’s temple. 

“Maybe coming to bed at a normal hour would also do the trick,” John added. 

“And what would that normal hour be?” Sherlock asked, amusement very clearly audible in his voice. 

“Well,” John grinned and stopped, coming to stand in front of Sherlock. “When I go to bed.” He brushed snow off Sherlock’s hat and then stood on his toes to kiss him. “Before midnight, anyway.”

“Fine. I’ll make an exception tonight.”

“Do you think you can solve it?” John asked after they had walked around the pond and made their way south again. 

“I honestly don’t know.”

“I think you can,” John mused. “You’ve cracked tougher nuts than this one. And the people in the photos are long dead, so there’s no rush.”

Sherlock suddenly stopped. “What if they are not doctored.” 

“Hmm?” 

“What if the photos are both genuine. Identical, with one exception, but genuine nevertheless.”

“How would that be possible?”

But Sherlock had already taken off, taking the quickest route out of the park. John had to jog to keep up with him. 

“Sherlock. Explain!”

“I have to look at them again.”

“You looked at them all day.”

“Yes, but I … I didn’t know they were all dead.”

John spluttered. “What? What do you mean?”

“The people in the photo. They didn’t move, except for one. Ha, I should have looked for the signs.”

Sherlock kept muttering to himself as he strode back towards Baker Street, leaving a flurry of snow in his wake. John tried to keep up but ended up sitting on the stairs for a while after they had reached Baker Street, trying to catch his breath. Sherlock had flown up the stairs and disappeared in their flat. 

“Hahaa!” he suddenly thundered down the stairs again and John stood, pressing himself against the wall just in case he needed to run past him. But Sherlock stopped right in front of him, took his face between his hands and kissed him. Then he ran up the stairs again without an explanation. 

Once John closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, still slightly overwhelmed from their rush through the snow, the resulting heat and lack of breath, and Sherlock’s enthusiastic reaction to what John assumed was a solved case. 

Sherlock was on the phone with the client, pacing back and forth through the living room, gesturing wildly as he spoke. John couldn’t make sense of much of the conversation as it happened in French, but he did recognise enough words and phrases to understand that Sherlock delighting in the horrible demise of the people in the photo.

Once the call ended, he threw his phone onto the couch and then dropped down on it, too. He held out the two photos to John before he patted the space next to him. 

“Tell me what you see.”

John looked at the two identical photographs which featured six individuals wearing summery clothes. The photos looked old enough to be have been taken just after the Great War, but apart from their age, he couldn’t say that anything about them was extraordinary at all. With the exception that in one of the photos, one member of the group was missing. 

“See this?” Sherlock pointed at what looked like a crutch under the arm of one of the men in the photo. “I assumed he was a veteran, injured in the war.”

John nodded. 

“And he might have been. But by this point, he wasn’t going to walk ever again.”

John looked at the photos more closely. “But their eyes.”

“Glass?”

“Jesus, Sherlock. Why would anyone do that?”

“Some macabre 19th century trends took longer than others to disappear.”

“Death photography.”

“Yes. It’s quite remarkable.”

“So, one is simply a test photo and the other is the full group?”

“And my client had both photos and was certain that the disappearance of her uncle had to be linked to the photographer.”

“But what if he killed them?”

“Well, the company’s name and address are on these photos. If you were to commit murder and then take photos of the victims, chances are you wouldn’t leave such an obvious trace.”

“But that means you could have dismissed the case immediately.”

“I was certain that the photographer had nothing to do with the disappearance. But the photos were intriguing, and if he had doctored them, then there would have been a good reason.”

“So, there isn’t actually a case?”

“There’s the case of a dead uncle and his friends, but that is not the case I was supposed to solve. I would have to see the bodies and I highly doubt there is much left of them now.”

“Sherlock,” John handed the photos back. “You were that frustrated because you couldn’t figure out how a photographer would have been able to remove a person without a trace?”

“Yes.”

“This wasn’t even about murder?”

“No, never was. I just couldn’t figure out how he had done it.”

“Because he didn’t do it.”

“Precisely.”

“That’s a bit of a bummer, hmm?” John grinned at Sherlock. 

“Well, you were right.”

“About what?”

“About the people in the photo being long dead.”

“Wait, does that mean I _did_ help you solve the case?” John beamed at him.

“Maybe, a little. Also, the fact that I couldn’t stand after getting up made me think about their strange stiffness.”

“You just thought they were standing very proper,” John picked up the photo again. “Makes sense.”

“Quite extraordinary.”

“Thank you.”

“I wasn’t referring to you,” Sherlock pointed out and John laughed.

“Well, I know, but let me pretend at least.”

Sherlock chuckled and took the photos from him. “Now, what were you saying was a good time to go to bed again?”


End file.
